We Need Each Other
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Carson and Mrs Hughes after Series 1.
1. Chapter 1

It would not be an exaggeration, Charles Carson decided, to say that Downton had taken a definite turn for the mournful since his Lordship's announcement that Britain was at war with Germany. The air about the house had become more grim and a distinct tension had begun to seep through the floors from upstairs and had diffused among most of the servants downstairs. Charles, however, was tired- exhausted even. Days seemed infinitely long until the evening; when it seemed that the time between the present and the time when the impending implications of the war would really hit Downton was slipping away all to quickly.

This aside, the evening was Charles' favourite part of the day. The it was reasonable for him to seek the solitude he often needed in the quiet of his pantry. Solitude had never before been something he sought, or particularly enjoyed, but these days it was increasingly attractive: the sight of most of his colleagues, or especially his employers, all currently in a state of perpetual agitation with the current situation only served as a harsh mental deluge of reminders of the world's bleakness. There was only one exception.

For years now he and Mrs Hughes had met in his pantry every night to discuss the running of the house. Good communication between the butler and the housekeeper, Charles felt, was absolutely essential for the good running of any household. Not only this, but Elsie did not aggravate him as everyone else seemed to. Though she was by no means immune or indifferent to the current situation, she lamented it with a kind of resigned regret that he found so much more bearable than the fidgety irritation that the rest of the household employed. Recently Charles had found himself offering Elsie, as he had mentally begun to refer to her, a cup of tea simply to prolong her company. Her attitude to the war allowed him, however briefly, to internally touch on his own troubled feelings towards the state of the modern world.

It was the thought of such a meeting that lightened the weight on his feet as he returned from serving his Lordship a nightcap in the library. Most of the house had retired for the night now, as he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw that only Mr Bates remained at the servants' table, a book in hand and reading by the light of a dim candle. Having no wish to have to halt his course, Charles assumed a quiet pace and quickly turned the corner and headed for his pantry. His colleague showed no sign of noticing the butler pass.

Reaching his pantry Charles noted that door was closed but a dim light protruded out from under it; he was meticulous in making sure his gas light was switched off when he left the room. It was unlike Elsie to enter without his express permission- typically asked for with a brisk double knock- but then he supposed he was rather late. The question that anyone else would seek him out at this hour of the evening. He did not mind in the slightest, it just was not like her. He opened the door slowly so as not to startle her and found himself startled.

Elsie was asleep in his armchair. Once he recovered from his slight surprise and had decided against immediately waking her, he paused to look at her. She would have been the image of peace had it not been for the slightest of frowns creeping across her brow: her feet rested soberly on the floor, her head tilted to the side and resting on the gently curled fist at her temple. The light made one side of her face brighter than the other. She looked exhausted; she looked exactly as he felt. It made him sigh to see her like this, her wall of strength briefly fallen and leaving her with a vulnerability that he had never seen in her. It had to admit, it frightened him: she was supposed to be the strong one, that was how it often felt anyway. He resolved to wake her.

He took hold of the wrist supporting her head and gave it a little shake. She began to stir. The moment that she saw him he could have sworn that she gave the most flitting of smiles and closed her eyes again in something akin to content, but it soon passed: her eyes flew open with realisation of what must have happened and she was quickly making her way to her feet.

"Mr Carson!" she exclaimed "I'm so sorry!"

Her Scottish accent became pronounced by her obvious embarrassment.

"It's all right," he tried to assure her, instinctively taking her moving his hold on her wrist to her elbow to prevent her from bolting out of the room, "Mrs Hughes, you were just tired."

At the final word the agitation seemed to leave like breath being wistfully sighed away.

"Tired." she repeated, glancing over his left shoulder.

He nodded firmly and her attention moved to his face.

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson,"

It left her in something a little stronger than a half-whisper. Waking her had not dispelled the vulnerability in her. He closed his eyes, not quite able to look it in the face. But he was able to look her in the face, if he was any human. He unscrewed his face as quickly as he had tried to mask his discomfort.

"It's fine," he told, quickly squeezing her elbows in reassurance.

She was standing very close to him now and still looking wary, biting the inside of her lip as he knew she did when was ill at ease. He realised that he had neglected to keep breathing in the past few seconds and gradually exhaled, his height lessening as his posture relaxed. Her face was much nearer now.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently.

It was not a question. Since he had entered the parlour her position and the words they had exchanged had made it implicitly clear to both of them that she was not fine. He had known that she was in fact affected in exactly the same way as the rest of the house, but he now saw the extent to which she was upset. And this seemingly innocuous was her way of saying _I know. I know you are as heartbroken by this sorry lot as I am. _He exhaled again.

"I'm fine,Elsie" he told her.

It was a lie, but not wholly, as he never wanted nor expected her to believe it. It was with this acknowledgement of equal vulnerability that something seemed to break between them. She was mildly shocked by him calling her by her first name but this soon came to fade as she realised what he was trying to tell her. She uttered what could have been half a strangled sob which was muffled by her pressing her face into his chest. Her arms made their way under his and wrapped themselves around his middle. He closed his eyes again. When she showed no sign of letting go he conceded defeat to the emotion that seemed intent on over powering them both and was slightly shocked to find that his arms were already embracing her shoulders. He rested his lips in her hair, in the faint scent of lavender and rocked her from side to side.

A lifetime and half later they broke apart, hearing Mr Bates' footsteps and the tap of his stick as he ascended the servants' stairs to bed.

**Please Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Winter was coming on fast. It would make for very poor travelling conditions, Charles thought with regret. It was a shame all round to be loosing another member of staff, especially young William who was coming along so well. Although she was bearing it fairly well, it was obvious that Daisy was beside herself despite Mrs Patmore's attempts to reassure the poor girl that the Kaiser would be fed up by Christmas and the war would soon be over.

William was the third gone in under two months: Thomas, there was no pretending to miss his good will and cheer about the house but he was an extremely proficient footman, dear Gwen, gone off to be a secretary which she would no doubt do very well at and now William who had joined up to fight for king and country. He would be greatly missed among the servants even discounting Daisy. At the moment he was in the library with his Lordship, no doubt being wished luck for the future. Charles had the most horrible feeling that he was really going to need it.

Charles made his way up the stairs to the servants' bedroom corridor and then towards William's room. He knew who he would find there: Elsie had offered to finish packing William's clothes so that the boy could have his audience with his Lordship, being the only member of female staff permitted to breach the forbidden gate that was the door between men and women's sleeping quarters. Sure enough he found it unlocked and that the key had been moved to the other side of the door. He smiled; she still had her wits about her from the days of Thomas and his trickery and was not willing to let any unscrupulous person lock her in the male sleeping quarters without the key being firmly on the same side as she was.

He passed his own room and reached William's. Before he saw her he could hear her humming as she worked. The door was ajar: he pushed it further open and rested against the frame. She did not have to look up to know that it was him.

"Almost done," she told him, folding the last jumper lying on the bed.

"Anything that I can do?" he asked.

The jumper was pushed down into the small suitcase she was kneeling beside. She nodded.

"Pass me the jacket off the wardrobe," she replied, indicating to it.

He reached up and took the garment down, removing the coat-hanger as he passed it to her. She set about putting it into the suitcase. He sighed and tapped the wire of the hanger against his finger tips. Having folded the blazer she looked up at him, hands resting on her thighs. She did not have to ask what was wrong; the list would have taken hours to get through. The truth was that these days it felt as if the house was falling apart: here was another splendid young person leaving them and what for? Aside from that there was the question of how they at Downton would possibly cope; they were already a housemaid and two footmen down and the war was not yet two months old. It seemed likely that young Mr Crawley would also be leaving them to fight and his mother was talking of joining up to be a nurse. There was of course no question of him himself joining up- not at his age. No he would remain and watch the house crumble.

"It's nothing, Mrs Hughes," he told her in response to her questioning look.

She was not one to be easily fooled. No, erase that, she could read minds. Her shrewd disbelief showed in her face.

"Mr Carson," she told him, eyes fixed upwards upon his face, "We'll manage, I'm not quite sure how but we will. Somehow."

He matched her disbelief with his own. Her spirit was admirable but he just didn't see a way. He gave a sad smile.

"My sister,"she continued, miraculously unfased by his lack of response, "Has a son. He can't fight, he's got breathing problems and so isn't fit. Well, he's just at an age where he's at loss for an occupation. It would do him so much better to be here than stuck in a ghastly factory in Manchester. I could send her a letter. Mr Carson, Charles, if we all pull together we will manage."

He looked at her properly. Her expression was full of such earnestness than he could not but acknowledge the small glimmer of hope that her spirit inspired in him. He gave a curt nod and smiled briefly. He was pleased to see that she smiled back at him and that the look of happiness lingered before she hunched over to close the suitcase.

"Now," she said, suddenly resuming her usual business-like manner, "Help me off this wretched floor before the poor boy gets back and thinks we are trying to burgle him!"

He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. Her hand was tiny in his and rather cold too. She pulled her fingers away from his to brush the dust off her skirts.

"Well, thank you, Mr Carson," she said, a stinted formality threatening for a moment to creep back into her voice.

She placed the suitcase at the foot of the bed and he turned to go.

"Oh and Charles," he noted a second use of his Christian name in the past ten minutes, "We will be all right; just trust me."

She took his hand back into hers and gave it the quickest of squeezes and a nervous smile. With that she left the room, leaving him there standing quite still. Not for the first time in that same ten minutes he found himself believing her.

**Thank you for reviewing! Please keep telling me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

It was not unusual for an employer to have favourites among the staff. It was still less unusual for a servant to have a favourite among their employing family, although she personally couldn't help but feeling that in her position she should be above such trivia. Elsie knew, Charles was particularly fond of Lady Mary while Mr Bates had a dogged loyalty to the master of the house. She personally, like many of her colleagues, was particularly fond of Lady Sybil and it caused her great anxiety to see that- though it was certainly not her place to say it- the dear girl did seem to be rather pushing her luck at the moment. It was a difficult time for the family, young Mr Crawley having recently left to fight and his Lordship seriously considering joining him, not to mention having to run the house on a staff ever diminishing in size.

It was possible that Lady Sybil had just crossed the line, if only by a toe, and Elsie could not help but feel that she had gone just a bit too far. Upon the young lady being attended upon without her mother's supervision while having her hair cut, she had requested to have it all cut off at the chin. Elsie had first come by the news when she her a commotion in her Ladyship's room and had gone to see if she could be of assistance. She had to confess that she was initially scandalised by what her Ladyship had to say but upon seeing the girl had regained some sense of proportion.

Lady Sybil's hair was not, as her Ladyship's report had lead her to believe, simply hacked off in a rugged line but cut neatly just below the ears, in fact once one got used to it it was not altogether displeasing. From what she could gather from Anna, Lady Sybil had recently come to the conclusion that women should not be forced to maintain their appearance in a way that did not suit them. This, to Elsie, did not seem so altogether unreasonable but she did think that Lady Sybil could have possibly gone about it in a more delicate manner: her mother was not at all prone to such fits of hysteria over such trivial matters: it was no doubt due to her having been well and truly through the mill, so to speak, in the past few months.

This however was by no means Elsie's main concern for the young lady. It would take a blind man not to notice her attachment to his Lordship's chauffeur. They were in a most idiotic position, Elsie only wished she could approve of it; it was such a shame to think of two young people depriving themselves of the affection they both undoubtedly deserved. But the world did not work like that, at least not their world. The very thought of an earl's daughter marrying the family's socialist chauffeur would be laughed at throughout England, there was no question of it ever being allowed. She sighed as she descended the stairs into the servants' quarters; she was quite sure that both of them realised the impossibility of their situation, but neither seemed willing to break it. That may, she supposed, be because they had not yet allowed themselves to really acknowledge it in the first place. Oh, to be young and crossed in love again!

As if her fellow servant's had tuned themselves into her thoughts, she was mercifully ignored as she passed through the kitchen; she did not think she could stand a discussion over the key to the larder at the moment. An interruption to her restless meditation, however, was never all that far off.

"Mrs Hughes!"

There was a hurried, slightly clattering sound that seemed to have followed her down the stairs. She turned to see Lady Sybil looking a little flustered, her newly shortened hair having been adjusted to a jaunty angle- presumably by her hurried descent.

"Lady Sybil," she began, "How can I be of assistance?"

She could not help but notice Daisy gaping at her young mistress' hair and only hoped that Mrs Patmore would for once come to her rescue and reprimand the wretched child.

"Mama sent me to ask if a room could be made up for Mrs Crawley. We think she's been terribly lonely since Matthew joined up and Papa's getting worried. We'd like you to make up one of the family rooms, the one next to Edith's. It won't be too much trouble, will it?"

Elsie shook her head.

"That should be fine, ma'am," she told her, "By tonight?"

"Oh no," Lady Sybil replied, "She won't be round until tomorrow, but if it suits you to do it now...-"

Elsie nodded.

"I'll get Anna onto it straight away."

"Excellent."

Lady Sybil beamed. Her smile had not changed a bit in all the time that Elsie had known her- all of the young lady's life.

"Would you happen to know if Mr Branson is about?"

In an instant Elsie was on the alert and immediately felt like a ridiculous bitter spinster.

"I'm not sure m'lady."

_Tread carefully, Elsie, for heavens sake._

Lady Sybil looked down heartened.

"Might I enquire why, m'lady? Is it not a little late to be going anywhere?"

Lady Sybil shrugged, perhaps a little too casually.

"I just thought it might be nice to go for a drive. It's a splendid evening, after all."

Elsie nodded her agreement. Lady Sybil suddenly looked rather shy.

"Well, I suppose that's all. Good night, Mrs Hughes, thank you for your help."

She turned to leave; for some reason Elsie felt rooted to the spot.

"Lady Sybil,"

The girl stopped, not making eye contact with the housekeeper.

"Yes, Mrs Hughes?"

When she did look up, Elsie had the oddest feeling that the girl knew exactly what she was going to say.

"Just...just be careful. For goodness sake be careful."

There was a moments pause.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mrs Hughes."

_Not true,_ Elsie thought. Another pause. She sighed heavily.

"Forget it," she told her, then as an afterthought, "Just bear in mind, I don't think his Lordship could afford the smelling salts your Grandmother would get through."

She could have sworn that Lady Sybil almost smiled before making her way back up the stairs. Elsie sighed again as she watched her go and mentally noted that she should probably limit her sighs to ten a day. She began making her way back towards her sitting room, only to find the door ajar when she got there. Perhaps Mrs Patmore had finally followed through her threat of actually stealing the key to the larder. But no, she would not have made a pot of tea while she was at it. Elsie's puzzlement was ended when Charles slipped into the room bearing two mugs. She almost laughed despite the weariness that suddenly seemed to have possessed her.

"We really need to stop doing this," she told him.

"What?" he asked.

"Breaking into each others sitting rooms."

He gave a low chuckle.

"Friends don't break in, not maliciously anyway," he told her, "They tend to assume that they have invitations."

She smiled back at him. He set the mugs down on the table and waited until she indicated to the sofa before taking a seat beside her.

"I suppose friends also know exactly when they need a cup of tea, too," she mused.

"Friends who happen to be butlers do," he told her.

"What about housekeepers?"

"You tell me."

She thought a moment.

"We're better with smelling salts than tea," she decided.

He chuckled again.

"And fighting cooks," he observed.

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Only if they try to monopolise the larder," she corrected him.

"And dominating the larder, then," he added to his list.

She laughed. He wore a frown.

"So in conclusion," he surmised, "The housekeeper is generally the superior member of staff unless the lady or gentleman in question requires a cup of tea."

"I'd hardly go that far!"

It was at about this point that they realised that they had moved considerably closer together during this round of banter; their shoulders now nudged each other companionably. It could have been intensely awkward, but awkwardness requires an edgy kind of energy and energy was something distinctly lacking with them both at the minute. Charles extended his arm around Elsie's shoulders. She found her head was well-positioned to be just rest upon his shoulder. They were quiet for a while: it was not long until Elsie dropped off, still resting on his shoulder, an arm stretched in a subconsciously possessive way around his waist.

"I would, Elsie," he whispered before kissing her on the hair and extracting himself from her embrace.

Praying that no one would see them in such a potentially compromising situation, he scooped the housekeeper up into his arms and carried her towards her room. She weighed next to nothing and he made a mental note to observe how much she was eating. Thankfully, the rest of the staff seemed to have retired for the night. Once he reached her room, he nudged the door open and placed her under the covers of the bed. She did not wake, only stirred slightly as his hand brushed her cheek before leaving the room.

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

The new year had begun fairly well. The load on the servants was currently lighter, Elsie's nephew had arrived just after Christmas, it was very like her obstinate sister to insist on keeping Harry until after the holiday and depriving them of much needed staff. This said, once the boy had got there, he was working better than she had expected: the last time she had seen him he had been an ill-tempered and quite lazy child; now he was more industrious, if a little pompous. This, and the fact that it was at last her day off, put her in excellent spirits.

She sat in her sitting room desk with a book open, enjoying the quiet; it being morning most of the other staff were in various places around the house. Although Mr Bates had just dropped in to pass on her post, no one had taken on this task full time since William left, she was putting off opening it for as long as she could: she could recognise her sister's scrawling hand a mile away and did not particularly want to have to send- a second- thorough reassurance that Harry was not being underfed any sooner that was absolutely necessary. It was not long, however, until she felt that she could not avoid it: it was after all her day off and another opportunity to correspond might not present itself for some time. Begrudgingly she put down her novel and picked up the offending envelope.

A knock at the door mercifully prevented her from opening it. She turned and saw Charles' head peering round the door at her, looking definitely harassed.

"There's been some bad news," he told her, sounding breathless "You'd better come quickly."

* * *

The telegram, it seemed, had arrived later than her letter, it being addressed to Crawley House while Mrs Crawley remained at the Abbey. Young Mr Crawley had been killed when a shell hit the trench in which he was stationed. Once Elsie and Charles reached the entrance hall the house was in turmoil: news good or bad had its way of diffusing through the very walls of the place. They arrived just in time to see the Dowager Countess being escorted out of the motor by Mr Branson, both of them hurrying. Charles sprang forward and took her coat and hat. Elsie did not have to be told where she wanted to go and immediately assumed the head of the party.

Mrs Crawley's room seemed to be the hub of the turmoil that the house had been cast into. Lady Sybil and Lady Edith sat at the window sill, both clad in black and both looking as if they wished they were somewhere else. Elsie knew that they both felt deeply for the loss of their cousin but also understood how awkward they must feel- not being able to empathise with a mother who had lost her child. Of course her Ladyship was there too, sitting in the chair next to Mrs Crawley, one arm around her. Mrs Crawley herself looked better than Elsie had expected; although her face showed the remainder of tears her head was held high as opposed to resting on her Ladyship's shoulder. Much to her surprise, Elsie felt a swell of pride within her for this woman and the fortitude she was showing: it had taken the mere announcement of war to send her, Elsie, running to Charles for comfort. But, she corrected herself, that was different, that was... what was it? Her train of thought was interrupted by her Ladyship rising to her feet.

"Ah, Mrs Hughes,thank you. Would it be convenient for you to fetch us some tea?"

Elsie nodded.

"Certainly your Ladyship," she replied, "I'll j...-"

But she was stopped by the sight she could see over her Ladyship's shoulder. She really should have better control over herself, but she felt her mouth fall open a little. The Dowager Countess was standing over Mrs Crawley's chair, but not with her usual imperious stance, there was something definitely softened in her aura. Her Ladyship and certainly Mrs Crawley seemed rather as confused as Elsie was by the apparent apparition in front of them. Then the Dowager Countess spoke, her voice quieter than it normally was.

"Mrs Crawley," she began, "Mrs Crawley, I do, truly sympathise with your...with your loss." She stopped a second and seemed to swallow deeply. Elsie sensed a great difficulty about her. "It would kill me if anything... anything ever happened to Robert."

And suddenly, though none of the women nor Mr Branson- who had accompanied them, saying that he should like to ensure that all ladies present were properly looked after and Elsie not having the heart to turn him away- would ever understand how, the two sworn enemies had there arms around each other and seemed to be crying. The shock in her Ladyship's face was evident. The tension that she had not noticed up until then was suddenly broken. Lady Sybil let out an shakily incredulous laugh from the corner and amazingly, for some odd reason the rest of the room seemed to follow her. The natural light from the large windows was suddenly a little brighter. When the Dowager Countess finally released Mrs Crawley, Elsie saw that they were both smiling in spite of having tears all over their faces.

* * *

"Beg your pardon, m'lady."

Lady Mary turned from her bedroom window.

"Oh, it's you Carson. I didn't hear you come in."

Charles bowed his head a little.

"Is there anything I can get for you, m'lady?"

He hoped he had chosen his words tactfully enough, there was no point in asking if she "needed" anything; the response was likely to be too painful. The lady smiled briefly through a closed mouth, it was clear that she had noticed his particular turn of phrase.

"No, thank you, Carson."

"Are you sure, m'lady? Your father sent me because he is concerned; he said that you haven't eaten anything today."

Lady Mary had turned back to the window. She looked deathly pale.

"Nice of him to worry about me so much," she commented. There was a hint of dryness in her tone.

"We all are m'lady," he told her, "The whole household feels for you in your loss. If I may say so, particularly for you m'lady."

She turned quite sharply to look at him, almost as if angry for a moment but seemed to think better of it. Her head bowed a little though it remained towards his direction.

"You think I've made an awful mistake, don't you Mr Carson?"

Charles said nothing.

"It's fine if you do, because I have."

It distressed him to see her like this.

"I dare say we all make mistakes, m'lady."

She seemed not to hear him.

"I loved him you know, Carson."

Yes, he did know.

"And if I'd only said yes, he wouldn't have gone, not as soon anyway. He'd still be alive."

There was no use trying to convince her that she could not have foreseen or really prevented this turn of events. What was done was done, they were at war and when you are at war people die, no one gets to choose who survives.

"Try not to think on it, m'lady."

A sob escaped her.

"How can I not, Carson? How will I ever face his mother?"

For once in his professional lie he could not conceive of a suitable response to give to one of hie master's family. But it seemed that Lady Mary did not really want one; she had turned to face him now. There was nothing he could think of other than holding her, just as he had done the last time she had the last time she thought she had lost Mr Crawley. The only difference was that this time she had.

* * *

The next time he saw her was in the same room as he had that morning. He had been called upon to serve nightcaps to the family: custom had been temporarily dispensed with and his Lordship had given the girls permission to have a small drink with him, deeming that they probably needed it. Mrs Crawley remained in her room and, as Charles understood it, the Dowager Countess has elected to remain with her. Descending the stairs he saw Mr Branson talking to Mr Bates at the servants' dining table- he strongly suspected that the young man had been hovering somewhere in the house all day, but was not willing to pursue inquires tonight: he wanted to see Elsie.

He found her much as he had that morning, it was probably the same novel that she clutched in her hand. She raised her head to see him enter. One look at his face told her all that she need to know as he closed the door behind himself. She dropped the book onto the desk and crossed to the sofa. He stayed at the door for another moment before following her lead. They did not need to speak. He sat down gently, hands resting on his knees, staring ahead; trying to maintain an expression of equanimity but his resolve was slipping away. He was angry that something like this should ever have to happen to as good a family as Lord Grantham's. His head began to ache and his eyes watered.

"Ssh."

Elsie knelt beside him just as a tear finally trickled down his cheek. Her arm reached across his chest and clutched his shoulder. The other stretched around his back to meet its sister. His other shoulder pressed against her chest and she rested her nose by his ear, closing her eyes. The intimacy was highly improper. Oh, what did it matter?- the world was improper. They stayed like that until they slumped against the back of the sofa in an exhausted sleep.

**I'm sorry I killed Matthew off, please don't hate me for it! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, please continue to do so, I'd like to know if this chapter was in character enough.**


	5. Chapter 5

He awoke still on the sofa. She was not beside him any more. It did not even surprise him that this saddened him. He was glad when a second later he heard the door creak a little as she returned to the room. Her hair was down now and she was wearing a long white night gown. She smiled when she saw he was awake and settled herself cross-legged in the corner of the sofa. He sat back and turned his head towards her. She gave him a small smile.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked him, her voice quiet.

"What time is it?" he wanted to know, seemingly unable to ascertain the hour himself.

"About two o'clock."

He sighed and thought that given he was alone in the near dark with Elsie anyway at such an hour anyway, their situation would not become any more precarious if he removed his jacket and undid his top button.

"Do you want me to put the light on?" she asked once he had done this.

He shook his head, he could see her well enough by the pale light from the window. She made quite a ghostly figure, sitting clad all in white. Her hair looked very nice down. They were silent for a while.

"Mr Carson," Elsie began after a while.

Her addressing him so formally startled him after their having been so close recently startled him. He hoped this wasn't the beginning of a long retreat. The worry had obviously showed in what she could see of his face.

"Charles," she corrected herself, "Do you think things would have been any different had they...had they been married?"

He did not need to ask who she was talking about or indeed why she was wondering; the question had been irking him ever since he had seen Lady Mary that afternoon. He sighed. That he did not know was the honest answer and he was rapidly coming to conclude that he was glad that he never would. On the one hand he would like to think that Mr Crawley would have stayed with his wife for as long as possible, but then that of course meant that Lady Mary's refusal of him had sent him straight to his death and he could not abide that thought. Elsie saw his frown.

"He would probably have gone anyway," she whispered.

He would dearly like to believe her.

"He wouldn't," he replied gently, "You know as well as I do, when you love someone like that and you have the chance to stay together you take it. But he must have felt they were too far apart the moment they decided not to get engaged."

She had no reply for that and so paused before saying;

"I suppose then, I can never have been in love."

The turn the conversation had taken, while it would once have completely thrown him, now only caused a mild ripple of perturbation.

"As I understand it, you have been proposed to twice," he reminded her.

"But I walked away, didn't I?"

True.

She sighed and ran her hair through her hair. The move surprised him but he reminded himself that he had never seen her like this before. She turned sideways a little and curled her legs around herself. The hand fell directly beside his own.

"What a sorry story my life would make to someone," was her next remark. It nearly broke his heart.

"I don't know," he finally managed, "I would suppose the less you love the less you have to loose."

Her hand moved into his own. The fingers linked of their own accord.

"You would expect so, wouldn't you?" she agreed, "So why do I feel like I have everything to loose now?"

* * *

She woke him up just before six o'clock. Daisy would be round soon to wake them up and it would be unwise to be found like this. He returned to his room begrudgingly, but she was right: there would be talk if people knew where they had each spent the night. Having changed into new clothes he sat on his bed and waited for Daisy, tired but still thinking. Mainly about Elsie. He had never known himself to be like this before, while he was not made of stone he was hardly an over-sentimental man. Recently however, he could not help but observe the change that had taken place in himself- intentionally seeking out her company, feeling the need to ascertain her opinion over the smallest household decision. Not only that but the way he acted towards her, he had never felt so intimately towards any one in his life. That he loved her was obvious.

He sighed; that certainly wasn't part of his job description. The bright morning light was just beginning to peer of the window sill and into the room. He wasn't even sure when it had begun. For a long time he had maintained the rational belief that she was possibly the only other person in the house, aside of course from hid Lordship's family, capable of holding a rational belief. He thought back to the night that he had found her asleep in his armchair. No, before he'd even found her he'd known he needed to see her. Before that, then. Perhaps, he wondered, it was when the possibility of her leaving had arisen. Even though he had only entertained the notion for a few moments before she had saved him with a musing of where on earth she would ever find the time to leave, those moments were possibly the bleakest he could remember. But she had stayed, thank the Lord.

Then there was the question of what on earth to do. Would she laugh at him? No, surely not, she knew him well enough to be sure that he would never joke about something like this and was certainly not one to scoff at the genuine article. But then there was that look of pitying concern, the awkward bite of the inner lip. He was not sure if he could stand a regretful rejection any better than he could being laughed at. There was nothing, then, to be done or said until he was sure that she felt the same. He waited a few minutes after Daisy knocked on his door before exiting so as to give the impression that he had had a restful night's sleep.

* * *

"Thank you, Carson."

A fortnight had passed without great event in the house.

"You are welcome, Mrs Crawley." He bowed his head a little.

Although, at first, he admitted that he had had his doubts about her and her son, he had to admire her courage. In spite of this it seemed that she was still enjoying occasional spells of solitude and had retired already, although it was only the early afternoon to the chair beside her window.

"Will that be all ma'am?" he asked.

After a moment she replied, "You know Carson, I really could use your assistance with a certain matter- that's if it's not inconvenient?"

"Certainly, ma'am," he replied and put down his tray.

Mrs Crawley crossed to her wardrobe. Charles felt instantly awkward; women's clothing was not exactly his forte.

"Are you sure that Mrs Hughes would not be more able to assist you in this matter, ma'am?" he asked.

Mrs Crawley shook her head firmly.

"Definitely not," she told him, "You see, it's Mrs Hughes in concerns."

With formidable strength she wrenched open the heavy wardrobe door. Charles was truly perplexed, but years of experience told him not to show it.

"Indeed, ma'am?"

Mrs Crawley started to lay some of her garments out on her bed.

"As you probably know, Mr Carson, I don't have a ladies maid."

He nodded in reply.

"Well, Mrs Hughes has been good enough to take care of me since I've been staying here- I expect you know that too? Well, since...since we had the bad news she has been especially helpful to me, Carson. Everyone has, I know, but she needn't have- the rest of the family are somewhat obliged to act as they did as I would be to them if something similar should happen on their part- but Mrs Hughes, was most considerate in listening to me and trying to offer comfort. She can hardly have much time to spare, but she always manages to find some for me."

Charles' mind was reeling. Firstly, he now felt an absolute oaf. Had he known that she was giving counsel to Mrs Crawley he would not have dared presume to go to her as he had done. It had been the height of inconsideration on his part not to at least enquire if it was convenient for her. Aside from this he felt a different sort of unease. Perhaps she was like this with everyone, perhaps she could not help herself from comforting people, regardless of her relationship with them or her feelings for them? His hopes, that had gradually built since they had said goodbye the morning she woke him in her sitting room, hit a brick wall. Paradoxically, his reasoning in suspecting that she did not return his feelings only made him love her more.

"Mr Carson? Mr Carson, are you quite well?"

Mrs Crawly was looking at him with concern.

"Perfectly, ma'am," he assured her, despite the dull numbness about his limbs.

"I was saying," she continued, "That I should like to give her something in return for her kindness, but I know she probably won't accept it. I have been led to believe that it is common, however, for a ladies maid to receive her mistress' old clothes. She won't know that these are all, in fact, practically brand new. Unfortunately, it occurred to me that I have never actually seen Mrs Hughes wear anything other than her black dress. Which of these do you think she would best like?"

Charles looked down at the garments before him. What could he picture her in? He thought of her as he had seen her on that night; long hair resting over her shoulders.

"Forgive me for wondering, ma'am- do you have anything of a darker purple?"

"You know, actually, Carson," she replied thoughtfully, "I think I probably do."

She returned to her wardrobe for a moment.

"Yes!" she announced, bringing fourth a purple blouse with small pale yellow flowers on it, "I don't think I've ever worn this, it never quite went with my colouring. Yes, I agree, she'll look splendid in it. This skirt should go very well too."

Once again, he was reminded of his painful but oddly contenting ignorance to women's fashion. Mrs Crawley smiled as she took the clothes to one side.

"Is that new boy waiting at table any relation of hers, Mr Carson?" she wanted to know.

Charles was intensely grateful for the return to familiar territory.

"Yes, ma'am, he is her nephew."

"And very like her too," she commented.

"Harry is a nice boy," he agreed.

"At first, I thought he might be her son," Mrs Crawley told him.

Charles shook his head.

"As I understand it, Mrs Hughes has never actually been married," he told her, "That is to say, the boy isn't her son, not that she would hav-"

Mrs Crawley cut him short with a smile.

"I'm aware, Mr Carson, you weren't casting aspersions upon Mrs Hughes' honour."

He could think of nothing to do but shuffle meekly. She smiled at him.

"Quite the opposite in fact."

He looked up at her. She was smiling at him in a very odd way.

"I'm sure I've no idea what you mean, ma'am?"

"I'm sure you know exactly what I mean, Mr Carson. I do have a pair of eyes and I've seen what you're like around her. Oh, don't worry," she added, seeing his face, "I don't think anyone else has and they're clearly not as intelligent as I first gave them credit for. Mr Carson," she told him, "She always speaks most highly of you."

It was not until he left the room that he realised that she had probably planned the entire conversation.

**Am I being too ridiculous? Also, it strikes me as odd that I write the longest chapter yet when I'm supposed to be doing my coursework. Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

Elsie was almost good friends with insomnia now. After all of these years it was only natural. Although she had frequently professed the value of a good night's sleep to her housemaids it was very rarely she actually set a good example herself. The difference on this particular night was that she didn't actually want to be awake. For one thing, she was exhausted and had twice this week felt the need to slip off in the middle of the afternoon for a quick nap- heaven help her if she had been discovered. Also, she wanted to escape her train of thought, which was even more often slipping off the straight and narrow tracks of the wholesome. It was not as if she was fully fantasizing, no, nothing as torrid as that, but then her thoughts hadn't exactly been what you'd call proper either.

She wondered how he would react if she went to him. He wouldn't be angry, surely? But then nor could she imagine him being pleased, not exactly pleased, more like graciously flattered but still resigned to sending her firmly back to her room. There was also the question of why. He was sure to enquire as to her reasoning for barging into his room at well past midnight and she wasn't entirely sure why herself, only that now she felt a compelling need to be close to him. She glanced almost instinctively towards her own door. She did not want to sleep with him, not in the more provocative sense anyway; she wouldn't know how. But maybe, just to curl up beside him, his arms wrapped around her and his face resting on her back, in her hair. She got out of bed and stood in considerable indecision.

Then there was the problem of getting caught to consider. If she was seen leaving Charles' room or even in the male servants' wing in the small hours of the morning, the consequences would be enormous. For a start the servants would no longer feel the need to respect the rules regarding male and female servants' quarters; potentially causing all kinds of sordid profligacy to ensue! Then there was the question of what would happen if her Ladyship ever came to hear about it- she and Charles would be out of a job for sure. This considered, it was sheer lunacy that she could still even be considering crossing the corridor to Charles' room. She sat down on her bed and put her slippers on.

It was obvious that he felt they were more than friends. He had once told her that the Crawley family were all he had, she had had no reason to disbelieve him then but now she knew it was not true, it couldn't be: they had each other, up to a point anyway. He was there every evening as they sat and discussed the day, he was there for support during most of her "negotiations" with Mrs Patmore, he was even there when she summoned Harry to her sitting room to make sure that he was managing with all of his chores and to ask him to write personally to his tiresome mother to assure her that his aunt was not mistreating him. On the latter of these occasions he tended to be more of a hindrance than a help as he had a tendency to fail to control his mirth when she got so aggravated with her sister. Her leg started to jiggle as it often did when she was frustrated or undecided. It had also come to her attention that he had been... well, what had he been? As housekeeper she officially disapproved of flirting, so surely it could not be that which had her in such a fluster every time they were alone together.

She was startled by a knock at her door.

**Sorry it has taken me so long to update, I had a Biology mock this week. Thank you for all your lovely reviews, please keep reviewing!**


	7. Chapter 7

The noise startled her so much that she could do nothing but stand staring at the door, utterly dumb-founded, for what felt like several minutes. A second urgent knock brought her back to her senses. The door squeaked a little, probably because she was opening the door half an inch at a time. Charles appeared around. Elsie shut the door hastily, plunging them into darkness except for the moonlight that cut squarely across Charles' face making him pale to the point of it being eerie. He wore an expression that Elsie thought showed every emotion she had gone through in the last few hours; timidity, uncertainty and embarrassment but not without a definite glimmer of hope there. In spite of this, when she opened her mouth no words came to her. They stood in a comfortably edgy silence for what f seemed to be an age.

Charles finally let out a chuckle.

"A right pair we make!" he commented.

He then seemed to consider his wording and stopped chuckling rather abruptly. Elsie couldn't help but smile at this.

"A right pair," she agreed ruefully and as an after thought: "Why do they put up with us?"

"Because they'd be lost without us."

"Yes," she conceded, "That is possible."

Silence, more tense than the last one. Elsie suddenly became very conscious of the fact that not only was Charles here in her bedroom, they were also both in nightclothes. She felt herself blush. He had obviously seen her worry and was looking at her with concern in his expression. Unable to stand it, she bowed her head and spoke to their slippers.

"Charles," she asked quietly, "Why are you here?"

A beat passed. His voice was gentle but uneasy.

"I should have thought that was obvious."

She looked up with so sharply that she felt her neck click. Their eyes met. His expression remained as before. She was not even dismayed with herself as she felt her mouth fall open slightly, she was simply too stunned. Her mind was blank; coherence was not coming easily to her.

"Why?" she asked stupidly, there was no need to; it was crystal clear to both of them.

He leant down and put his hands on her little shoulders. He kissed her quickly.

"Ah."

She turned away to hide the fact that she had become so breathless from such a brief kiss.

"Elsie?"

She stared out of the window, her hair draping over around her neck.

"Please say something."

She could not believe that she had suddenly come over so shy- well not shy exactly, but certainly dumb! Had she not been wishing for this not quarter of an hour ago? Slowly, she turned to face him, but still silent.

"Should I never have said anything?"

"As I recall, Charles, you haven't, strictly speaking, said anything at all."

He smiled uneasily.

"I know you know what I mean."

She smiled briefly as well to confirm what he said, then realised that this was rather a serious question.

"I know," she told him.

Tentatively, she reached up to his face and rested her hand on his cheek. His eyes closed. She reached up and kissed him back, as briefly as he had done her, but it was enough to answer him. He expelled a heavy sigh of relief then opened his eyes cautiously.

"What took us so long?" he wanted to know.

She couldn't have told him. Shaking her head she turned again to face the window. This time he closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her waist, his head resting on hers. She felt the warmth of his fingers through her nightdress: his closeness strangely both comforted her and scared her out of her wits.

"What do you want to do?" turning towards him to try to address him meant that she almost spoke the words into his neck. She had said them quietly anyway and was amazed that he heard her at all.

"Could we not just stay like this? Forever?" he asked her.

She looked up at him; he seemed serious enough.

"And sleep standing up? We aren't horses Charles!"

He laughed: she felt it across her back.

"No, my love, we aren't."

Silence. She turned in his arms to face him.

"What?" he sounded alarmed.

"Love?"

He waited a moment and then pressed a kiss into her hairline.

"Horribly," he told her "And unconditionally."

She did not kiss him this time, but smiled buried her head in his chest. His arms tightened a little around her.

"So," she repeated when they finally broke apart, "What do you want to do?"

"Sleep. With you," he replied.

Again, he seemed to evaluate his choice of words and feel more than a twinge of regret for them.

"Not like that," he added.

"Good!" Elsie could not help but be relieved.

Then she too realised that her turn of phrase could have been a little more well chosen.

"Not that I don't want to," she gabbled, "I mean, I find you attractive- excessively so. Sometimes at supper or even when we're working upstairs I'll not be able to think of anything else, but...-"

"We aren't married," he finished for her.

She nodded fervently. Waiting for him to say something else was a little bit like torture.

"I love you too, Charles," she told him.

He smiled earnestly.

"Sleep," he told her.

She nodded again in agreement. He took her hand and waited for her to lead him towards her bed. He wrapped her up in his arms again, legs entwining themselves naturally together. She liked the way his hands rested likely on her ribs.

"I'm glad you came to see me," she told him- half asleep.

"I know," he replied, "I'm glad you let me."

It puzzled her that even given the amount they had advanced tonight, their words should still be so shy.

A knock penetrated the drowsiness of the room. Elsie sat bolt upright suddenly alert. Charles saw the momentary flash of terror in her face. The knock came again, more urgently.

"Lie still," she whispered to him.

The door opened a crack. Elsie could only just see Anna's head against the bar of light from the corridor.

"Mrs Hughes," the girl said, before the housekeeper could berate her, "You'd better come quickly. Lady Sybil has gone missing."

**Sorry it's taken me another age to update! Please review! : )**


	8. Chapter 8

It was frosty for March. He found her sitting on a bench by the village pond. Her expression was glassy; he hoped that it was due to tiredness rather than anything else. She was wearing the clothes that Mrs Crawley had given her; in what felt like another life. A fleeting notion of satisfaction passed over him: he had been right, she looked beautiful in them. She turned as she heard him approach her and smiled a little when she saw it was him.

"Her Ladyship was kind enough to give me the day off," he told her by way of explaining his presence in the village, as he accepted the seat that she offered him.

She nodded.

"Me too."

There was no denying that last night had been something of a hectic one. Lady Mary had, for reasons best known to herself, gone into her sister's room last night to find that the bed had not been slept in. She had gone and told Anna about it straight away and Anna, not wanting to wake either Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes, had gone straight to Lady Grantham. Of course, upon finding Lady Sybil to be nowhere in the house, Anna had had to come and wake her anyway. She had thrown on her usual dress over her nightgown and gone to see what was to be done. Minutes after she had hurriedly descended the stairs, Charles had followed her- somehow immaculately attired.

The scene downstairs had not been a pleasant one. Lady Grantham was sitting on a sofa in the library- Lady Edith holding her hand and trying to keep her calm. His Lordship was pacing tersely back and forth in his dressing gown and Lady Mary sat on the window sill, her head resting on Mrs Crawley's shoulder. Lady Sybil had not been seen since before dinner.

The telephone call arrived at around two o'clock in the morning- "a beastly hour for such a machine to be in operation, anyway!" Lady Violet had said, having arrived to give her opinion at breakfast time. Lady Sybil had not, as Lady Grantham had feared, been kidnapped or, as Lady Violet had feared, arrested. The latter, on hearing this had decided that so long as Sybil was not in police custody, nothing could be too far wrong and settled to eat some toast. However, the next piece of news that she had received caused such furore that Miss O'Brien was immediately sent running for the smelling salts. The fact of the matter was, and there was no avoiding it however much they tried, Lady Sybil had eloped. Mr Branson had recently left his post as Lord Grantham's chauffeur to work for an MP in Manchester. The post office boy, upon delivering the morning papers, confirmed that he had seen Lady Sybil getting on the evening train to Manchester last night. Charles delivered this news to the family at breakfast.

"Did the foolish boy not think to stop her?" Lady Violet had wanted to know.

Charles had replied, as tactfully as he could, that the boy hadn't then been sure if it indeed was Lady Sybil on account of her having much shorter hair than the last time he had seen her. This did not help matters much as far as the Dowager Countess's nerves were concerned. However, once breakfast was over, most of the family had somewhat reconciled themselves with the idea. Her Ladyship conceded that so long as her daughter was happy she would be content herself and only wished that she had waited until after this season before making hasty decisions. Mrs Crawley fully supported the young pair and Lady Edith almost seemed to find the whole thing almost funny. Even Lady Violet drew some comfort from the fact that the couple intended to get married that very day. Her Ladyship had telephoned the place where Sybil said she was residing- which turned out to be a tavern owned by Mr Branson's cousin- and she, along with Mrs Crawley and her daughters had set out for Manchester that morning. Lady Violet's forgiveness did not extend to wanting to go all of the way to Manchester just to wish them well. After their late-night activity, most of the servants had been given the day off to recuperate.

Charles wondered how his Lordship was bearing up, he had looked distinctly weary as he said goodbye to his wife.

"They all know about us, you know."

This statement shook him out of his revive.

"How?" he wanted to know.

Elsie gave him a stern look.

"Because Anna saw you, of course. She'd have had to be blind not to!"

There was quiet for a moment.

"Does it really bother you?" he wanted to know.

"Of course it does!" she told him, "It's not just... it's not just that. It was the way... it was almost as if she found it normal! Like she was expecting it, like they all think we've been in each other's beds all of this time. Is that what people think of us, Charles?"

He sighed, he had not bargained for this. He shook his head.

"I'd like to think not," he told her, "But it doesn't really matter to me if they do. I have you."

To his dismay she laughed harshly and rolled her eyes. He had never seen her do that before.

"Are you ashamed of us, Elsie?"

Something in his tone seemed to bring her back to reality. Her expression softened considerably.

"Of course I'm not," her voice was genuine, "I'm sorry, it's just nothing like this has ever really happened to me, not like this anyway."

He put his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead.

"It's al-right," he told her.

They stayed sitting next to each other on the bench for a long while.

"Charles?"

"Mm?"

"Will you go for a walk with me?"

"I'll follow you to the ends of the earth."

She took that as a "yes". They got up and took each other's hands.

"Let's go this way," he nudged her down a lane that lead off the the main street.

Although she had said she was not ashamed of them, he knew that she despised the idea of being gossiped about. Most of the staff were likely to be in the village and they would be decidedly safer without bumping into any of them. This way there was only a field with two horses in it, and their gossip couldn't do much harm. Elsie, evidently still able to read him like a book, smiled at this gesture. They walked over the damp grass to the top of a small hill, looking back over at the house. They both stood there for a moment, facing each other but not physically touching, looking over at the theatre in which most of their lives took place. Then he turned back to look at her, still surveying the house, almost looking a little sadly at it. She felt his eyes on her and turned back to him. A look of embarrassment briefly flickered in her face, betrayed by her slightly chewing her lip as she was so prone to do.

"It's our lives, isn't it?" she said, "I didn't even realise it until just now. Almost our whole lives are lived within someone else's walls and we don't even question it." 

She turned to him.

"Mine was," he conceded, "But it's you now."

They kissed, not chastely as they had done before, but passionately, arms pressing them close, hearts racing. Eventually, they broke apart, breathing heavily, fingers entwined. Not wanting the moment to go, he took her into his arms held her tightly.

"It's you," he repeated, "It's you."

**Now it's the Christmas holidays I actually have time to write things! A couple more chapters left. What did you think of this one- too soppy? Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

Three weeks had passed since the night of Lady Sybil's elopement, life at Downton had returned to something resembling normality and the weather had become considerably warmer. Life however, could not have been more different for Charles and Elsie. True, they had tended to spend their evenings together anyway and hadn't for a long time been quite attentive to their surroundings while in each other's presence, but things had recently been taken to a new extreme. Elsie has shortly realised that any attempt to conceal their relationship from the rest of the servants would be utterly futile and it quickly became common knowledge below stairs that Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes were, in a sense, walking out together. Elsie surprised herself, usually she despised being the topic of any kind of furtive conversation or gossip, she did not feel, at the moment, that she could be happier.

One particular evening, she and Charles sat- well, almost lay- on the sofa by the fire in her sitting room. It had been quite a difficult day; they had not had the chance to see each other since breakfast time but both quietly relished the prospect of it being both of their days off tomorrow.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asked her.

She lifted her head of his chest to smile up at him.

"I don't care," she told him honestly, "As long as I get to see you."

That certainly left their options open.

"Well," he contemplated, "We could walk to the village or I could ask his Lordship to borrow the motor and we could go for a drive somewhere. Or..." he added, "We could ourselves in here and pretend no one else exists."

"That sounds quite agreeable," she conceded.

He chuckled.

"But what would everyone think?"

Although she spoke with a light-hearted air, what she said worried him.

"I thought you didn't care what people thought?" he asked, planting a soft kiss on her neck where the top buttons of her dress seemed to have become undone.

She gave a tiny shudder before composing herself, she had not totally reconciled herself with the extent of the effect that he seemed to have on her.

"I don't," she told him firmly, "I just don't see much point in inviting gossip to come our way, especially when we're not... doing anything."

"I beg to differ!" he pronounced, feigning offence, "I thought we had accomplished all manner of...-"

"You know exactly what I mean, Charles," she cut across him, "But thank you for trying to spare my embarrassment."

Quite an awkward pause followed.

"Would it help if you discussed it?" he asked tentatively.

"What?" she asked.

Her voice was distinctly wary.

"You know what I mean."

Yes, that was true. But where to begin? She looked at him rather helplessly. His face was gentle and she decided that honesty was probably the best policy.

"I'm clueless, Charles," she almost whispered.

He tried not to look pitying, but the confession, her face as she confessed it, caused an undeniable twang in his heart.

"I've never... never been..." she could not bring herself to articulate it and oddly enough this helped him understand her all the more.

"It doesn't...-" he began.

"The thing is," she continued, head tipped to the side, voice matter of fact in the endearing half-bravado she often applied to situations like these, "I'm not sure if I could... that is to say... well; please you."

It was at this point that he found himself unable to go along with the notion that she could ever make him anything other than happy, ecstatically so. He put his arm around her and drew her close. Finding herself unable to speak, she fell silent and relaxed against him. Nothing he could say to her would completely dispel her doubts, but this action came close to doing so.

"Charles?"

Her voice was muffled against his waistcoat.

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

He smiled down upon her.

"You're welcome," he told her, "Now, before I forget, her Ladyship has asked us to go to Manchester next Friday. Apparently there are some things she would like picking up and is unable to go herself, she hasn't quite recovered from her illness last week."

This struck Elsie as rather odd: her Ladyship was willing to let both the butler and the housekeeper leave the house for entire day, especially as they were now taking the same day off? She looked up at Charles. Judging by the look on his face he was thinking exactly the same as she was.

"You don't think she knows about us, do you?" she asked, failing to hide that she was slightly aghast at the prospect.

"I think it's entirely possible," he told her, "That her Ladyship has put two and two together. I also think it's very possible that Mrs Crawley has been gossiping."

Elsie was puzzled by this.

"You haven't told her, have you?" she asked.

"Certainly not!" he impressed upon her, "But she does seem to be rather more shrewd than I had originally given her credit for."

"But that is so unlike her!" Elsie could not quite believe it, "She's so kind to me, I'd never have thought she go gossiping behind my back."

"No," he agreed, "It is certainly unlike what I had perceived her temperament to be. However, it has come to my attention that she has been spending rather a lot of time with the Dowager Countess since young Mr Crawley died. It is entirely possible that she divulged the information involuntarily."

Elsie could well believe that. If this was indeed the case, they probably depend upon most of the female population of the house being well-versed in the goings on between the butler and the housekeeper. She sighed, but not too heavily as she could sense his eyes on her.

"I don't care," she repeated, "Really, I don't." Then she gasped, "Is _that_ why they telephone you now instead of ringing the bell for me?"

He nodded grimly.

"It would not surprise me if the ladies of the house found some amusement in trying to put us together at every possible opportunity."

When once such a notion as this would have intensely annoyed if not upset Elsie, now she found herself finding it rather funny.

"How long ago do you suppose this began?" she asked him, rather amused herself.

"I would guess at about the time you receive the clothes from Mrs Crawley."

She laughed.

"We never stood a chance, did we?"

"No," he replied, almost chuckling himself, "And it would seem that we are stuck with each other now."

* * *

"M'Lord, might have a word?"

"Certainly Carson."

Charles shut the library door.

"What is it, Carson?"

"It's about two members of staff, your Lordship. Two members of staff getting married."

"Ah."

His Lordship had recently, probably due to the recent goings-on concerning his youngest daughter had recently taken a rather exasperated view of matrimony. Not, you understand, that he had suddenly taken a dislike to Lady Grantham, more that he had become wary of matrimony in itself.

"Who, Carson? Which members of staff?"

There was a pause.

"Mrs Hughes, m'Lord."

Pause.

"And who else, Carson?"

"And myself, m'Lord."

"You Carson?"

At the back of his mind Charles wished his employer would sound a little less surprised at that.

"Me, m'Lord."

"Gracious!"

Charles did not quite know how to respond to that.

"So I am to take it, then," his Lordship, seemed to be recovering himself a little, "That Mrs Hughes is not in fact _Mrs _Hughes?"

"I understand not, m'Lord."

"But you can-t leave Carson, you just-... Wait a second," his Lordship seemed to be puzzled, "What exactly do you mean "You understand"? Surely she told you whether or not she was married when you proposed?"

Pause.

"Strictly speaking, your Lordship, I haven't actually asked her yet."

Lord Grantham's incredulity seemed to rapidly resurface.

"You haven't asked her?"

"No, m'Lord."

Pause.

"M'Lord," Charles began, "You must understand that I have no wish to leave Downton and nor, as far as I'm aware, does Mrs Hughes. However I do understand that in cases like this it is normal for the staff in question to... depart." 

"Gracious, Carson, you may stay if you like! Heaven knows, we're short enough of staff as it is. I'm sure some kind of arrangement can be come to in terms of where you would live."

"That is most kind of you, your Lordship."

"Don't think of it Carson, I'm very happy for you both."

"Thank you m'Lord. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, just a minute Carson. How long have you and Mrs Hughes been...walking out?"

"Just over four weeks, m'Lord."

This, for some inexplicable reason, seemed mild frustrating to Lord Grantham.

"M'Lord?"

"You will come to appreciate, Carson," his Lordship told him, "That there is nothing more irritating than when you disbelieve your wife and she turns out to be right!"

**Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

She was sitting in his pantry, uninvited but welcome as usual, the first traceable starting place where this all began. Her legs were crossed on his armchair and she was using it a king of island, sewing resting on her lap. She looked up as he walked in and smiled. To his dismay she looked exhausted, but it was a Sunday evening and he imagined that he didn't look much better himself. At least she looked genuinely happy, that was an improvement.

"What are you doing?" she sounded amused.

That was rather a good point; he realised he was standing stock still, just looking at her. To say something highly witty, he thought, would be in order just now.

"Wondering."

Clearly, he wasn't capable of wit at the moment.

"Wondering what?"

"Wondering how on earth I'm going to demand that you get into bed as soon as possible without it sounding like a proposition."

"Ah."

There was a pause.

"I'd rather have a proposal, if it's all the same to you, but I'm open to negotiations."

His mouth fell open: it was far too much of a coincidence. So too was the glint in her eye and the way, it seemed, that she was fighting back a giggle, probably at his expression.

"How did you...-?"

"Charles my dear, I would have thought you would have learned by now that the only way to keep a secret in this house is to project it from the rooftops. Then people will think it's not worth passing around. Sometimes I would swear that the walls have mouths."

He was still dumbstruck.

"I believe," she continued, hoping that he would recover the power of speech fairly soon, "That His Lordship told Her Ladyship of your intentions. Her Ladyship was at the time being waited on by Miss O'Brien, who told Mrs Patmore. She then told most of the kitchen staff, one of whom- probably Daisy- told Anna, who then told the young ladies. Mrs Crawley informs me that Lady Mary hurried excitedly into her room to convey the news to her. This morning I was congratulated, much to my confusion, by Mrs Crawley upon my engagement."

"So the whole house knew?" he asked.

She nodded grimly.

"I'm afraid so."

There was a pause.

"It also seems," she continued with an air of the mildest unease, "That somewhere along the line, one party took it upon themselves to make my answer for me. Daisy, I expect."

"You obviously don't want to. You would be foolish if you did, after the proposal that I've failed to give you. I'll wait, Elsie, it doesn't matter, I'll wait until you're ready."

"What are you talking about, you ridiculous man?"

Deadly silence. He hoped he hadn't misunderstood her, he charged himself to remain calm but his mind was whirring nineteen to the dozen. Did that mean she...?

"What?"

"You're going to have to prescribe me a fool, Charles Carson. I accept."

He could hardly believe his ears.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "It's not too soon?"

"I would have accepted you nearly every day for the past decade," she told him, "Admittedly, I would have asked you if you were drunk first but I still would have."

"What do you mean "nearly" every day?" he asked.

She smiled up at him.

"You know you can be right tyrant sometimes."

"Such as when?"

" Such as the time William had a tear in his jacket shoulder. Such as the time Thomas put out the wrong glasses for dinner. Such as the time when Anna was new and she accidentally went up the stairs to the men's rooms. Your own behaviour on that front hasn't exactly been exemplary of late."

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time," he told her, "And as I recall it was you who gave her such a mighty scolding."

"Details."

They were holding hands now, she had stood to meet him.

"I don't have a ring," he confessed.

"I'm not marrying the ring, I'm marrying you."

True enough.

"Charles?"

He looked away from her hands and at her face. Her eyes were shining. He doubted that it was just the light.

"Yes?"

"When can we get married?"

"Whenever you like."

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow, for me. As soon as the vicar will take us."

"You're certainly keen," she remarked.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Me too."

There was another pause.

"Charles?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Aren't you supposed to kiss me?"

"I'm not sure, I've never done this before."

He suddenly realised what he'd said and waited for a sharp clap in the face. Instead she laughed bitterly.

"Good Lord, Charles! Are you trying to make this engagement the shortest on record?"

"I'm sorry,"he told her, "I didn't think." 

She nodded.

"I know. It's all right."

"I'm sorry," he apologised stupidly.

"Charles," she said barely above a whisper, "You must believe me when I tell you it wasn't like this before."

"I do."

"I didn't even have to think about accepting you."

She held him tightly to her for a moment.

"Good," he told the top of her head.

"I'm never letting you go, you know."

"Good."

They remained like that for a long while.

"Charles. Now kiss me."

**End.**

**Thank you for reading! Happy Christmas!**


End file.
